Agony
by Random007
Summary: When Brit dies, Meat is in agony.


**I'm writing this because WWRY is closing in London in twelve days and I only got round seeing it last Wednesday. It was amazing though. I might come up with more fics in the future, maybe longer ones but no promises.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned this, would it be closing?**

_**Agony**_

I collapse in to Robbie's arms as Brit falls to the ground. I would have fallen to the ground, but his reflexes are, as always, perfect. I lookup at Kalshoggi, hate pulsing through me, rage like I've never felt before. Because Brit can't be dead... because he's Brit, basically the leader of the Bohemians, my boyfriend, my Britney Spears. Galileo or whoever he is better be the real dreamer, the one we've been waiting for, because if he isn't, he'll have an angry Miss Loaf to deal with. I haventhaven't realised I'm screaming, but I know I am as I try to make it through the laser cage, but I'm not as strong as Brit, I can't make it through, it hurts too much. It hurts that I can't get to Brit and talk to him even if he can't reply to me.

Suddenly everything begins to move and before I know it, I've blacked out, along with everyone else who's captured, and that's all the last Bohemian's, except Galileo and Scaramouche, so they'd better hurry up and either find us, or the last remaining instrument on the earth.

We're in a cell when I realise what Brit being dead means. It means he's never coming back, no more singing or dancing for me, his chick, but he will rot on the floor of heartbreak, while my hearts broken because he'll never be able to hold me again, even if I survive enough to finish the interrogation we'll most likely get so they can get the other Bohemian's. But I have to be strong, Brit wouldn't want me to give up. _Just pretend he's gone away to find the dreamer again, Meat,_ I tell myself but there's a little voice in the back of my head that whispers, _But he's not coming back. _

The others are leaving me alone, but all I want is them to talk to me, so I can stop thinking about Brit and seeing him hit with a white laser every time I blink. I try to talk to all the others, but they don't want to talk to me, maybe because I've never really been without Brit for any length of time before. I'm about to tell Robbie what I think, but some of the faceless GaGa soldiers come and lead us to another room, tying us each to separate chairs, about a metre and a half apart each. I'm sort of in the middleish next to Robbie Williams and Madonna. For some reason, I fear this is the end of me, of Meat, of the dream. At least I'll get to be with Brit.

The pig named Khashoggi says to us, "What do you know of the phrase 'living rock'? Where is the place of champions?"

Robbie, from my left replies to him, and I swear he's just trusting to make it worse. I know how strong we all feel about rock and music, but we have to come out of this alive. "They're freedom words, pig! Words the Dreamer used! We don't know what they mean!"

The evil lapdog breaks us all when he says, "Pity! Hurt him anyway!" And Robbie jerks around, twisting and turning, in serious pain. He's a friend, a friend to all of us, and showing us how much our lives are in their hands. Just like Brit's was...

No, I can't let myself mope about that. Brit died to set us free. I need to honour the rest of my life for him. I owe him that

And the pig replies, in the most pigish way possible, "And I would rather you did not call me 'pig'."

"Pig's too good for you!" I scream, not able to hold it in any longer. If I'm going down, I need to at least make my mark on the earth.

I hear the chief of the secret police scream, "Hurt her, also!" Before I am overcome with pain. I shake uncontrollably and scream. I can last this out. Bet Brit was in more pain when he died

I just recover when I hear Khashoggi shout, "In fact, hurt them all!" We all write as we feel the torture bestowed on us. It's so agonising I can't begin to explain it. But I last it out, for Brit, because I owe Brit anything and everything, and I will survive to see Rock reborn.

It stops, and we all collapse, lifeless for what its wort, back in to the chairs as Khashoggi continues "For what it's worth, your 'Dreamer' knows no more about the place of living rock than you or I do. He's just a poor idiot, parroting phrases he does not understand. Still, he lead me to you, and for that I am grateful." Ha! Galileo will find it... He'd better. It's then I realise what the place of living rock is. It's not a rock that's living, as we all thought it would be, but it's a place where the age of Rock lives on. Galileo better figure that out for himself because I something I'll ever be able to get the message to him.

From my right Madonna asks, "Are you going to kill us?" Quite calmly. Too calmly. This is death we're talking about, what we've all see in the last twenty four hours.

Khashoggi replies to him in the same calm manner. It creeps me out, to be perfectly honest."Please, Mr Madonna, Globalsoft is not some medieval inquisition! We're merely going to kill your souls - and empty your brains of such absurd notions as real music and individual thought." What does that mean? They're gonna empty our brains... so whenwhen my brain dies, it won't get the chance to be with Brit! I'm never going to see him again.

Some one says, "You're sending us to Euro Disney!" As I realise we're going to the Seven Seas of Rhye. Where no one sane ever goes, and no one ever comes back from. Khashoggi announces this, as I begin to feel like I have to say something inspiring, like Brit would. He'd make everything seem like it would be alright.

A helmet is placed on my head, on all of our heads, as I think. Seconds later all I can come up with is, "Dreamer! Follow us! Bohemians, give him your power! Make your last thoughts the Dream!" But my last thoughts rent of he dream. They're of Brit. Britney. Britney Spears.

_"Good night, Miss Loaf…."_


End file.
